


Bring It To You

by colavaria



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky is tired, Comfort, Coney Island, F/M, Food, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Movie Night, Sleepiness, bucky is unknowingly good at hide and seek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 00:16:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12096537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colavaria/pseuds/colavaria
Summary: After a string of sleepless nights, Bucky doesn’t join in on a group bonding activity and you try your best to cheer him up.





	Bring It To You

**Author's Note:**

> I went to a carnival recently and thought, "you know who wouldn't like this?" so that's how this idea came to be, hope you enjoy :)

Engrossed in a new book, you were curled up in your favourite armchair, devouring the words on the page as your eyes flicked from one side of the page to the other.  The author was fantastic at keeping you engaged, so much so that you didn’t hear Steve until he tapped your shoulder. 

 

“Hey, you alive?” Steve asked, taking the seat beside you to slip on his shoes. 

 

“Yeah, did you say something?” you replied while finishing up the sentence and marking your page with a bookmark.  

 

“I asked if you were coming to Coney Island?”  _ A group bonding activity _ , he called it when he told you yesterday.  “We’re leaving kinda now.”  

 

“Of course, I’m ready to go!” 

 

“Well, you could’ve fooled me,” he mumbled, staring at your very not-moving body.

 

“Do I detect sass, Rogers?” 

 

“Nooo.”

 

You shoved the part of his arm you could reach. Cold ice cream, exhilarating rides, and the overall loud atmosphere of the park had you excited, plus you were going with all your favourite people. 

 

“Can’t wait for the wind in my hair,” you grinned at him.

 

“And the bugs in your teeth,” Steve finished, moving to his left shoe.  

 

“Exactly. We need to get a before and after photo.”

 

“Why, cause it’s Thor’s first time on a ride?”

 

“Yup. His hair’s going to go crazy from the wind. I bet he’ll tie it up into a high bun and we can’t let that memory go undocumented.”

 

“I’ll bet on that,” Steve said, looking past you. “Good afternoon, Buck.” 

 

Bucky had wandered into the common room at the sound of your voices, looking rumpled and like he was in desperate need of a bed, despite having probably come from his room.  “Afternoon,” he mumbled, heading straight for the nearest armchair and collapsing into it. 

 

“Are you up for a Coney Island day? We’re probably going to stay for fireworks.”

 

Bucky shifted under both of your gazes. Ever observant, Steve leaned on his knees with his hands clasped, squinting a bit as he scrutinized his friend’s behaviour. 

 

“Not in the mood?” 

 

He gave a non-committal shrug then leaned his head back to close his eyes.  Steve nodded slightly and unfolded himself to stand up. He patted his best friend’s shoulder as comfort and to show he understood that Bucky needed a chill day instead of being surrounded by the suffocating crowds of the park. 

 

“Y/N, I’ll be downstairs, come when you’re ready.” 

 

“Alright,” you said, setting your book on the table and glancing at the brunet, who now had his forearm draped over his face.  “Hey, Bucky.”

 

The arm fell away to flop on his lap and when he rolled his head to look your way you recognized the deep, dark rings under Bucky’s eyes. 

 

“Hi,” he rasped, a forced smile following his words. “Are you leaving now?”

 

“Yeah…” you said, but suddenly that didn’t seem like the right answer anymore.  Seeing Bucky so down like this, it dimmed the excitement you had felt when you first heard about the Coney Island idea.  If one of your favourite people was going to be left in the lonely tower, it wouldn’t truly be a team activity. Nor would it be a group photo. 

 

“Coney Island’s fun. You’ll like it,” he said, closing his eyes again.  His words, tinged with fatigue and hints of nostalgia, had your mind gears turning. Did he want to go?  

 

You asked him, and he rolled his head no. “I didn’t sleep well, I’d rather stay in.” 

 

You had to pass Bucky on your way out, and he grasped your wrist, stopping you with a more genuine smile. “Have a good time, Y/N.”

 

“Thanks. I’ll see you later, Bucky.”   So. It sounded like he liked Coney Island, but a lack of sleep was keeping him from joining the team on their trip. Surely this was a simple fix. Your mind was racing as fast as the elevator descended the many floors, and when you reached the ground, the ding of the opening doors was like a lightbulb over your head.

 

You jogged over to the waiting group and tapped Steve on the shoulder. 

 

“I have an idea.” 

* * *

Two hours later, you strode into the airy Avengers tower lobby towards the elevators, an opaque shopping bag of items awkwardly bumping against your leg when you stopped to press the button. Chewing on your lip, you allowed yourself to consider the thought that had to potential to punch a hole in your otherwise flawless plan. 

 

If you were Bucky, where would you be?

 

Just because he hadn't wanted to come to Coney Island there was no guarantee that he would be in the tower. Bucky could have gone for a walk by himself, or for a motorcycle exploration, actions he often did when in a mood like this. New York was big. He could be anywhere. 

 

You snapped your fingers when you remembered the reason why he liked to do those things when in a funk. They were a distraction. A change of pace. Something  _ in _ the tower had this power: movies.  You had a good place to start. 

 

When you arrived at the 22nd floor, you made straight for the theatre, pulling open the star-decorated door with a bright smile. It was a cozy room, the luxurious floor to ceiling screen drawing the eye immediately as the automatic lights flickered on. The gold walls were offset by rows of four classic red recliners.  In the front one there was a recliner on each end, and a bed-like cushion between the drink holder adorned armrests, replacing the two middle chairs; being the best seat in the house you expected to see Bucky splayed out there in the middle of a film.

 

It was empty. 

 

The screen’s reflection of this emptiness mirrored the feeling you experienced. You really thought he’d be in there, but apparently the ghost soldier lived up to the name. He did, after all, evade discovery for years. A crease forming between your brows, you wracked your brain for another spot. He could be in his room, maybe, or the gym. Those are distractions too. With the locations in mind you backed out of the cinema and let the door swing shut as you made sure the bag avoided getting caught in the hinges. 

 

“Y/N?” 

 

You spun quickly to see the subject of your thoughts standing down the hall.

 

Bucky was in his navy sweater and black jogger pants, and with the dark circles, his hair ruffled and hunched shoulders, his body language screamed exhausted. Still, he managed to appear on edge, thanks to his eyes that were alight with attention. Bucky had snuck up on you, his footsteps far too similar to a cat’s. Virtually noiseless. If he hadn’t the habit of doing this on a regular basis you would’ve been startled, however you felt welcome relief flooding through your veins.

 

“Hey! I was looking for you.” 

 

“You were?” Bucky said while stepping closer, and you couldn't ignore the wary undertone in his question, or the way his eyes traced over your face, searching for something, anything that would tell him why you were here, if you were injured. “Is everything okay? Did something happen?” 

 

“No, no, everything's fine, Bucky, they're all at Coney Island,” you assured him, placing a hand on his chest to stop him from going past you to the emergency phone found on every floor. Occupational hazard. The mind always goes to the worst possible scenario first. 

 

You felt his breaths relax under your fingers, his body doing so too. He took a couple steps to the side to lean nonchalantly against the wall, but to you it looked like it was the only thing keeping him upright. 

 

“But you’re not there.”

 

“I changed my mind.“ 

 

You didn’t want to spoil your surprise so you left it at that. He rolled his bottom lip between his teeth as he nodded slightly, blue eyes boring into your own and making you feel like, somehow, he had been prepared for this vague answer. 

 

“How are you?” you asked softly, fiddling with the bag’s handles to resist the urge to just go to him and hug all of his tiredness away. 

 

Bucky exhaled heavily and ran a hand through his hair, messing it up further. “M’okay. Just tired.” 

 

You nodded in understanding. When sleep evaded you, it meant exhaustion not only the following day, but the ones after as well. For someone like Bucky who was prone to multiple sleepless nights in a row, you couldn't even imagine how he was feeling. But you did know you wanted to make ‘just tired’ a little more tolerable. Cue your plan.

 

“What were you up to?”

 

Bucky shrugged, lifting an eyebrow to match. “Not much, really.”  His sight wandered around the room like it was going to tell him what he could do before it landed on you again. “Came up here for a movie.”

 

So you weren’t completely off base with your movie idea. “You’re going through Sam’s recommendation list.” 

 

“Yeah.” He paused, considering you as if he was trying to work up the courage to make a decision. “Do you, um, wanna join?”

 

“Sure.” His hands were calloused and big and your heart jumped when your fingers slipped between his to tug him gently off the wall. He was so  _ warm  _ and _ god,  _ you so badly wanted him to be happy. He deserved to be happy. __

 

Bucky didn’t let go of your hand, choosing to use his free one to open the door for you. “You still haven't really told me why you're back.” 

 

“I have something for you,” you explained, entering the room and choosing the bed seat at the front of the theatre. Reluctantly you let go of Bucky to lean back against the pillows and make yourself comfortable, crossing your legs at the ankle. 

 

“Oh?” He glanced at the bag, curious. 

 

“C’mon, get comfortable.” 

 

You patted the space beside you and he sat close, his shoulder brushing against yours, copying your leg position and watching as you began to unpack everything you brought. As you placed each thing on the cushions it was crossed off of your mental list.  

 

  * Two Nathan’s Famous hot dogs
  * An extra large bag of popcorn
  * Postcards showcasing the roller coasters, the background lit up by a rainbow of exploding fireworks
  * Seashells in all shapes and shades
  * A previously empty plastic water bottle, now filled with sand



 

Bucky’s brows travelled higher with each item, and he picked a postcard and turned it over to stare at the smiley face you had drawn on the back. Looking up, he asked quietly, “What’s all this?”

 

“You didn’t want to go to Coney Island, so I brought Coney Island to you,” you said simply, tossing the empty bag to the chair on your right to then turn back to Bucky. 

 

“Ice cream’s in the fridge, if you want some now I can go...”

 

They always say that the eyes are the window to the soul. That you can see a person’s emotional state just by examining them. Here, right now, the way the goodness in Bucky’s soul was completely exposed to you when it usually was locked away and hidden from everyone--it was a testament to that statement. Gratefulness was radiating out in blue waves, spreading to every line of Bucky’s handsome face and you found yourself unable to finish your sentence.  

 

He blinked as a gentle smile grew on his pink lips. “You did this for me?”

 

“Yeah. You were feeling down,” you explained, shifting to face him fully and witness that masterpiece of a smile. “I thought this could cheer you up since you didn’t want to go out.”

 

“It’s amazing,” he said in that grateful tone, eyes flickering between your own like he was trying to memorize them. To see what was in your soul, perhaps. “You’re amazing.”

Having Bucky look at you like this was making your heart play a game of rapid jump rope. You’ve never been so close to him. “I am?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

You stared, until your brain stopped spinning enough to say  _ hug him _ . Opening your arms with a lopsided smile that Bucky returned, you took care not to knock over anything as you both leaned in. His arms, one around your middle and one over your shoulder, had your head resting in the crook of his neck.  It was exactly how you imagined, how you wanted to hug him earlier. Soft. Comfortable. Relaxing.

 

“I love this makeshift Coney Island,” he whispered, “thank you.”

 

“Anytime, Bucky. I hope it helps.”

 

“It does. A lot,” he said, releasing you and picking up a hot dog,  “I’m starving.” 

 

“Dig in!”

 

You munched while searching for the movie that would continue this night's theme, a movie called _The Pick Up Artist_   that was supposedly set in Coney Island. 

 

After moving everything to the floor, you and Bucky spread out on the bed-chair, pressed up next to each other and accidentally brushing hands when you reached for the popcorn bag. Always sending mini-fireworks, like the ones featured on the postcards, up your arm. It happened a couple more times before you slipped your hand into his and  surreptitiously squeezing it; bigger fireworks happened when he did it back. 

 

Neither of you needed the Coney Island fireworks; they were happening just fine on their own here in the tower.

 

"Hey, Y/N," Bucky murmured as the characters came into view, "does the main guy look a lot like Tony or is it just me."

 

You gasped.  "He does, woah."

 

You made a mental note to talk about Tony's secret acting career.  Not long past the halfway point you noticed Bucky’s head fall onto your shoulder before he jerked awake with a start, and he stared bleary eyed at you, the screen, then back to you. 

 

“Sleep, Buck. You need it.”

 

He didn’t respond other than to drape himself across the whole piece of furniture, head in your lap and immediately dozing off. Your fingers started to mindlessly braid small sections of his hair before undoing them and fiddling again.  You spent the rest of the night in such a position, watching movies and not doing much, but enjoying it immensely.  

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading <3


End file.
